


Loose Ends

by CynthiaCrescent



Category: Path of Exile (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 14:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13273695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynthiaCrescent/pseuds/CynthiaCrescent
Summary: The sail back to Wraeclast is the perfect time to revisit an old face.





	Loose Ends

The cave was dark, dank, deserted, and dense with death.

A piece of skin fell from the ceiling. She flicked it off her arm. Hungering growls and the chaotic shuffling of limbs followed her footsteps. The zombies’ advance were clumsy, but deliberate. She stopped her stroll, and so did they.

Before her was a wreckage. Stray planks and rope pieces were scattered about, damp and falling apart from prolonged exposure to the rise and fall of the tides. It was the remains of a rowboat, operated with haste and inexperience, hence the crash.

Lying on the side of that boat was a corpse.

She extended her arm. One of the zombies stumbled forward, and placed into her hand a glowing lantern. It emitted a dim, pulsing green light. It didn’t reach far, but it was warm. She brought it near the corpse. It was that of a girl, sixteen in age and low in class, rotting away. Her hair once brown, her skin once fair, but now almost one with the earth.

Placing the lantern next to the corpse, she ordered the zombies to move away. Her arms outstretched and fingers apart, she began to chant. The words clung together like pellets in the air, hanging over the perimeter. Her arms twirled in a circular motion, while her fingers drew words of forbidden magic in the air. A red ring appeared beneath the corpse, creating a chasm separating it and the earth itself. Waves of energy seethed forth from the crack and loomed over the dead girl. In a moment, they pierced through the air with blinding speed, aimed straight at the decaying body. She squeezed her hand; this destroyed the lantern and release the green mist inside. The red energy from beneath the ground fused with this fog and invaded the body, lifting it upward.

Presently, the corpse began to reverse its rotting process. Holes in the skin were covered; broken limbs were mended; torn hair were reconnected. In a moment, it looked like this girl were at the same level of health as she was before dying: starving and destitute.

She moved forward. The words afloat settled on the red circle. She placed her hand on the girl’s chest. The words began to spin wildly, kicking off pebbles and dirt around them. Her fingers sent a pulse of energy down the girl’s core. The words roared.

The body began to convulse violently for a few seconds, then settled down. As the waves of energy left, it fell, abd she was there to catch.

The girl’s eyes slowly opened. Little by little, they took in the situation at hand, as best as they could. After a moment to grasp reality, the girl coiled into a ball in fear. She had so little strength, however, that this was unsuccessful.

“Stop,” she commanded.

The girl looked up at her. She saw a woman of dark hair, slim contour, and eyes glowed bright without any pupils. The black, eccentric robe she was wearing only added to the intimidation factor. 

“I’m sorry.” The girl barely managed a breath. “Please don’t hurt me.”

She shook her head. Such a pitiful creature, she thought. Rummaging through her pockets, she produced half a piece of bread, which she handed to the girl. 

The girl took the food, incredulous. She didn’t let her astonishment getting in the way of basic survival instincts, however, and began to bite down on it with the ferocity of a starved animal. There wasn’t much, so the meal didn’t last long, yet the girl turned and looked up at her with watering eyes.

“Thank you.”

“What is the last thing you remember?”

The girl thought about it. There was water, a lot of it. She remembered getting swept away by the unnatural tides of Wraeclast, arms clutching desperately to the Allflame, as if that somehow could’ve saved her life. She remembered being chased by serpentine monsters of mud, and having to seek refugee in a cave. She remembered being wounded, and bleeding out. She shuddered.

“I was dying,” the girl finally replied.

“You died,” said the woman. “I revived you.”

The girl wasn’t sure of how to respond to that declaration. It didn’t sound likely, but it was also the only explanation she’s been given. This was when the runic circle and cracked earth around her feet became apparent to her. She had no choice but to believe it.

“Thank you,” she repeated.

“What’s your name?”

The girl thought about it.

“Evelyn,” she said.

“Well, Evelyn, you’re with me from now on.”

The girl nodded.

“What is your name?” she asked.

The woman seemed taken aback by this question. It was not one she received often. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone bothered, not since the burning of her sisters on the pyre years prior.

“I am called the Witch,” she answered.

Evelyn scratched her head.

“But what do I call you?”

“You shall call me Mistress.”

The Witch wasn’t going to expect no for a reply, and was satisfied when none come. She motioned the girl to stand beside her. Evelyn was hesitant after noticing the army of undead where she was supposed to go. The Witch dismissed them with a movement of the hand, letting Evelyn sheepishly squeeze herself into the newly created clearing.

She extended her arm forward, and drew a tall oval shape. Metallic tentacles were erected from the ground, tips converged at a high point, from where a blinding purple rift tore itself into existence. The Witch stepped through without a word. Evelyn was initially dubious, but the ushering of growling zombies at her back was the push she got.

As her feet stood firm on the other side of the portal, the girl found herself on a crumbling fortified watch tower. Ragged tapestry made up the majority of what was a sorry excuse for a ceiling. The rain was heavy, grinding away at the wall brick by brick. Groups of refugees huddled around bonfires, poorly protected by roped old blankets, nervously looking up at every drop of rain threatening their only source of light and warmth.

“What do we have here?”

Evelyn turned to face the man approaching her. Despite the freezing pouring rain, he had on nothing but a brown tricorne and a pair of stained trousers cut up to his knees, right hand rubbing his protruding gut. He wore a devilish smile, gaze sizing her up.

“Excuse me,” Evelyn retreated away.

“Who might you be?” A lecherous grin accompanied his pitched, raspy voice.

“She’s my slave.” 

Bestel took a hesitant step back as the Witch presented herself in front of the girl. He fancied a jest, but those dead, pupiless eyes looking down on his own didn’t indicate a high tolerance for jokes. Clicking this tongue, he backed off.

“And here I thought there was a dim light for this old soul,” he said, staring at the hypothetical wishing star.

The Witch didn’t answer, instead motioned Evelyn to follow. At the other end of the clearing, stood a man whose right eye was wrapped in a bandage. His body was of one who faced combat on a daily basis, riddled with scars across the bulging muscles. His left hand hovered about the proximity of the hilt of his greatsword, which, from its stunted edge and grainy blade, had seen its own share of battle.

“Another mouth to feed?” asked the man.

“Evelyn.” The Witch made an introductory motion toward the girl, then toward the man. “Tarkleigh.”

“Pleasure.” He extended a hand. Evelyn shook it without a reply. His grip was firm and rocky, hers soft and weak.

“Where is she from?” he asked the Witch.

“A ship,” a pause, “Fairgrave’s ship.”

“Fairgraves?” He was as incredulous as expected. “Wasn’t he marooned months prior? Was she there all these time?”

“Something like that.”

In this inopportune moment, Evelyn found her stomach growling. Embarrassed, she tried to cover it up with her arms, which was less than effective.

“Get her some bread,” demanded the Witch.

“We don’t have her rations yet. There’s nothing left over. We’ll have to wait until the next morning,” said Tarkleigh.

“Give her my rations.”

He and the girl looked at each other. Sighing, he produced some hardtack and a medium-sized piece of moldy bread. Evelyn took it. He pointed at the corner, where an old cracked vase sit, with a stained dipper hanging by its edge.

“Fresh water’s in there. You can also just drink the rain water, if you prefer.”

“Thank you,” she said, eyes not leaving the food.

“You can just eat it.”

The Witch’s permission sent the girl into a frenzy, crushing even the hardtack with great speed. The bread had long been gone.

“She looks like she hasn’t eaten in months,” Tarkleigh commented.

The Witch watched the girl intently. It had been a long time since she ever desired anything as much as that girl did food. It was a perplexing sight.

“What do you plan to do next?” asked Tarkleigh. “The longer we wait, the harder it will be to find Nessa again.”

“She’s your problem, not mine,” said the Witch.

“That may be, but she is important to us here at the Watch. She’d done so much, and we’d at least like to see her safe. If what she told you before was true, the more time passes, the deeper her mind shall fall into the Brine King’s clutches.”

The Witch didn’t bother with a reply. She simply stared at him, until Tarkleigh was forced to avoid her gaze, and looked down.

“You’d need to do better than that.”

“Please,” he pleaded. His voice was uncharacteristically earnest and vulnerable.

Speaking those reassuring words would’ve been simple, yet the Witch has yet to declare them. She didn’t particularly believe finding Nessa will be a problem, but responsibilities weren’t something for which she was looking. In the end, maybe she was relating to the man, even if just a little.

“All right.”

“Thank you,” said Tarkleigh. His usual stern, scarred expression was at the point of breaking. “We owe you everything.”

“I’ll get going in the morning. Take care of her while I’m gone.”

The Witch motioned a finger toward Evelyn, who at this point had finished her old, cold, and slightly moldy meal. The girl was clasping rubbing her arms, trying to warm up. It didn’t look to be working, as she was shivering under the cold rain regardless. The Witch gently pushed her toward her effects at a corner, where she produced a blank white, and clearly oversize shirt. Evelyn was instructed to put it on, to find it long enough to cover her down to her thighs. She clumsily retreated her arms inside the shirt itself. It helped somewhat. Calmed down, Evelyn saw the Witch standing under the downpour, rain drops like bullets bouncing off that impossibly pale skin.

“Are you not cold as well?” she asked, and was met with a glare, “mistress?”

The Witch shook her head. She rolled out the bedroll stashed nearby, and told the girl to lie down. Evelyn complied, huddled up in her inadequate attire.

“Sleep.”

“What time is it?” the girl asked.

“Late.” The Witch paused to look at the stars, blurred behind the flurry of rain. “Too late.”

“Aren’t you going to sleep too, mistress?”

“I don’t sleep.”

These blunts answers hammered the girl’s curiosity. Thought better of it, she decided to follow orders. Curling up on her side, she tried to relax. It was difficult, given the rough terrain and skimpy clothes she was given. Her body quaked, and the urge to cry was rising within her.

Presently, she felt a soft, cold touch on her cheek. The Witch had sat down beside her, and extended a hand to caress the girl’s features. Their eyes met for a moment. Those pupiless orbs still looked intimidating, but the way the Witch’s eyebrows softened as their gaze crossed put a sense of reassurance into the girl. She stopped shaking under the cold. Thunders boomed, but she didn’t stir. Under the drumming of the rain, Evelyn’s consciousness faded into deep slumber.


End file.
